


Don't Drink and Drive

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [10]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Accidents, M/M, depictions of injury but not very graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: All Race really remembered was hearing a sort of crunch before everything went black





	Don't Drink and Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Writers block is killing me so I decided to write about an auto wreck :)

All Race really remembered was hearing a sort of crunch before everything went black. No matter how hard he tried to remember what the road in front of him might have looked like before it happened, he just couldn’t. 

A shadow fell him a half second before it happened though, that stood out like a bolt of lightning.

* * *

 

Before he’d properly gotten up he’d gotten more details than they were willing to give him now that he was awake. Drunk driver. T-boned. Red light. Snippets of sentences that he caught between bouts of sleep, a drug induced sleep at that. Once he heard them say ‘morphine’ he just accepted that there was no way he could fight himself awake any longer and let himself pass out. 

For a good ten hours he later found out. Of course that detail was mentioned casually between a description of the myriad of injuries he’d managed to incur when the SUV slammed into his side door: four broken ribs, no sign of a punctured lung, fractured wrist, mobility should return fully, and a gash in his shoulder from the steel door collapsing in on itself, but no sign of infection there.

The nurses may as well have been talking about some sitcom they way they said it. Like it was something they saw everyday, and they couldn’t see something like that, something like him, everyday and still be sane. Wasn’t possible. 

This doctor couldn’t be human, the way he barely looked up from the fucking clipboard to give Race any inclination of sympathy when he said that visiting hours were closed for the night and your emergency contacts have been notified Mr. Higgins but they are  _ not  _ getting in tonight.

Fuck hospitals. Fuck Brooklyn traffic lights and fuck the IV that was going into his arm because the pain will be too much for you to sleep through the first few nights sir, we’re sending in a prescription for you tonight.

But damn if whatever shit they were pumping into his arm wasn’t strong. Not strong enough to keep him from noticing his phone vibrating on the table across the room though, but enough to keep him from seeing the contact name. 

He desperately wanted it to be who his muddled brain thought it was. Because if it was he could explain that it wasn’t his fault, yes he was the reason he was in Brooklyn that day but it wasn’t his fault. It’s not, it’s not your fault Spot please don’t think it’s your fault.

The light was flicked off in perfect time with the shutting of his eyelids.

* * *

 

“What time did it happen?”

“No permanent damage though?”

“I’ll fucking kill the guy that did it-”

“Spot calm down.”

“No, I won’t calm the fuck down Jack-”

“Shut up I think he’s waking up.”

Race opened his eyes and really wished he hadn’t. He’s almost managed to convince himself this was a dream, and that he’d wake up in any bed other than the hospital bed he was in now. 

All the white was hurting his eyes. Why did they make everything in the room so white?

“Race?” 

Spot’s voice was softer than Race had ever heard it and he forced his eyes open because he had to see his face, to make sure it was real.

“Fucking Christ Race,” Spot said before hugging him as much as he could with all the bandages and such. It was a damn good hug though. “Jesus I’m so sorry, we tried to come last night but they wouldn’t let us in.”

He pulled away and he actually looked broken and that fucking hurt, more than the rest of his actual injuries; which was saying something because the medication was starting wear off and he was  _ sore _ .

But regardless, he needed to get something across  _ now _ .

“It’s not your fault Spot,” he said seriously. He tried to prop himself up a bit with his one good arm and Jack was at his side in half a second.

“Be careful Racer,” he said quietly. The concern radiated through his voice and Race stilled. “You don’t gotta think about anything like that right now, okay? They said you should be good to go today, so just take it easy.” 

He placed a hand on Race’s shoulder and squeezed gently, moving back when Race managed a weak smile. Jack could act an awful lot like a mother when he wanted to; not that any of them really knew what that felt like.

Spot though, he looked like he was trying to bite his nails to the bone. Jack turned his head to follow Race’s eyeline and sighed. 

“I’ll leave you two alone, some of the other guys’ll be in in a few minutes.”

He ruffled Race’s hair before he left, door shutting quietly behind him and leaving Spot standing five feet away with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

A silence stagnated for a few seconds before Race let out a wince; his shoulder really hurt, sixteen stitches could do that to a guy. As much as he tried to bit it back, it still came out.

And Spot heard, head snapping up and moving to his side in a fraction of a second with a hand on Race’s own.

“Are you okay? I can get a nurse in-”

“No,” Race said, “It’s fine, I’m just sore.”

Spot nodded tersely and clenched his jaw, it looked like he was holding back tears. “Okay, I just-I’m sorry.”

The apology was rare, and normally Race would have felt amazing at actually getting one, but now he didn’t want it. “Spot you didn’t do anything, it was an accident.” 

No response, but Spot sat at the edge of the bed, eyes on the bag of whatever the hell was being pumped into his arm.

“Please Spot, I’m fine, it could have been way w-”

“You’re fine?” Spot asked, “You’re in the hospital because you were coming to visit me. You got hit by a fucking car and you shouldn’t have even been in Brooklyn yesterday Race, and it’s my fault.”

His voice cracked at the end of the sentence and Race moved the most he could to put a hand on his shoulder. Spot flinched and the irony was recognized. 

“Spot, it wasn’t your fault, it was a drunken asshole’s fault, you didn’t do anything wrong, please Spot.”

He got him to look up after that and there were tears in his eyes even though he’d never seen Spot Conlon cry but he’d also never been in a hospital before today so there’s a first time for everything.

“I fuckin-” Spot choked out, “I thought you were dead man, they called at eleven and it took them five fucking minutes to say if you were okay and I thought you were  _ dead _ .”

He put his head in his hand and Race bit back another wince when he sat up properly and shifted to sit next to Spot’s shaking form. 

“I’m not though, I’m fine, I’ll be out of here in an hour Spotty,” he said softly. He reached out his good arm and slung it across Spot’s shoulder, instantly feeling Spot lean as carefully as he could into the touch. “It’s okay.”

Spot sniffed and laughed shakily, he always did that when he got stressed. Race thought it was some sort of coping mechanism but Spot just said it was his sense of humor. They never felt the need to confront the lie.

“You’re staying at my apartment tonight,” he said once he entwined his fingers with Race’s, “And you’re never driving again.”

Now Race barked out a laugh. “You’ll have to be my chauffeur then Conlon.”

“Sounds about right,” Spot said lightly. 

He managed a bit of a smile and Race rested his head against his shoulder. It didn’t hurt too bad.

“Least I didn’t damage the moneymaker.”

A snort.

“Don’t quit your day job.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

The sat there for a minute or so, hands clasped together, before Spot sighed and stood up. “I’ll go let some of the other guys in, they were bouncing off the walls the whole way here.”

Race nodded and smiled before planting a quick kiss to the back of Spot’s retreating hand. “Okay.”

They held eyes for a few more seconds before Spot started for the door. Whatever atmosphere they’d managed to create shattered as soon as the space between the door and the jam was remotely human sized. 

“Race!”

“Move ova’ I was here first.”

“You can’t call dibs on a door Romeo.”

“Watch me.”

That was a bit more like it. About ten of the guys shoved their way past Spot and into the room, on Race before he could get a breath in. 

The walls seemed a hell of a lot less white with everyone crowding around them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed!! As always comments/kudos are appreciated, as well as any prompts you might have for these two or any other ship!


End file.
